


Emitting Slime

by yastaghr



Series: Scribbling is its own Language - Oneshots [3]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Autistic Papyrus, Child Neglect, Drunkenness, Feels, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Papyrus is a Good Brother, Young Papyrus, Young Sans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-31 22:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8596819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yastaghr/pseuds/yastaghr
Summary: Exploring a bit into an idea I had for the mysterious past of the skelebros. Papyrus-centric, Young Pap and Young Sans. There will be feels.(this happened while I should have been working on something else. Whoops)





	1. Chapter 1

The Capitol had always been too loud for him. Monsters pressing up against his bones, constantly having to haggle down the prices of food, the smell of hundreds of monsters living in too small a space - everything about it dragged against his SOUL. But he couldn’t leave, not yet. Sans was the one with the plan. He would just have to wait.

Papyrus stood on the tips of his toes, reaching above his head to slide his key into the lock of their house. Their parents were never home before curfew, if they bothered to come home at all. Papyrus honestly prefered it when they stayed away, not that he would admit that to himself.

He was sure they were wonderful people, kind and caring and loving and all the things monsters were supposed to be. It just seemed hard for them to show that with him. 

Maybe all the friends he was sure they had were taking up all of their kindness, and since they knew he was such a strong boy, they gave all that energy to someone who needed it more! That had to be it.

Papyrus pulled open the fridge, dropping the bag of groceries in front of the door with a thunk. Carefully, he unloaded every bottle, moving the oldest ones up to the front. 

It wasn’t much fuller now that he was done, but that made sense, since he hadn’t made the trip over to Hotland to get the rest of the bottles for almost a week now. He’d have to do that tomorrow.

Finally unpacked, he set the folded up bag into the cabinet under the sink and grabbed the stepstool. Over to the counter it went, and he carefully climbed up. 

He tugged open the door, ducking his skull to avoid the swing, and peered inside. Only one packet left in the box. He wiped away a tear and put his favorite oatmeal back. 

Today he’d gotten a bad grade on his reading test, so he didn’t deserve the treat. Maybe next week. He’d have to try harder. Maybe Sans could help him when he woke up.

Papyrus flinched as the front door slammed open. Angry footsteps, slightly offbeat. Not a good day then. 

He scrambled off the stool and ran for the fridge, grabbing a blue bottle and hugging it close. He sprinted down the hall, ignoring the slurred shout, and ducked into Sans’ room. He set the bottle on the rug and ran for the chair, dragging it over and tucking it under the knob just like Sans had taught him to.

He leaned against the door as the handle turned, putting all of his weight into keeping it shut. Muffled words blasted through the wood, but he tuned them out, just like Sans wanted him too. He wasn’t supposed to know those words, and he didn’t like the way they made him feel. 

He usually pretended these were the sounds of an evil human, and he, the Great Papyrus, was valiantly holding them back. Eventually, the human always went away. Today was hardly any different.

Papyrus breathed out, letting the tension out of his SOUL. He opened his sockets, looking around the room to see if anything had changed. You could never be too sure. Sometimes he could have sworn he’d seen a white dog hiding under the bed.

The dresser was still there, sitting to his left, paint chipping and collecting on the floor. He scowled, promising himself that he’d get out a dustbin and broom and clean that up shortly. You couldn’t be too careful with germs and dirt and stuff.

The lamp sitting on the table to his right was broken, the shade bent up into a weird shape that almost looked like a face. The bulb had gone out a few weeks ago, but he didn’t know where to find another, and hadn’t had an opportunity to ask.

The window behind the bed was open, the box shade still tilted up the way he left it. It left a pattern of bars across the bottle sitting on the rug. 

The circle of fabric in the center of the room was faded and torn but still pretty nice. It only had a few stains, and the stone floor got too cold without it. 

He usually remembered to roll it up and hide it under the bed in the morning. Guess he was in too much of a hurry today. He really didn’t want to have to find another if his parents decided to take this one, too.

The chair behind him had finally burst, letting the pokey bit of metal out into the glowlight. Huh. Sans was right, it was a spring. He wondered why humans would put anything so dangerous and sharp inside something they were going to sit on. Didn’t they worry about it scratching their bones? Maybe it was some kind of defence mechanism, like puzzles. Maybe Sans would know?

That was it. Papyrus had officially run out of things to look at. He dragged his eye sockets over to the mattress. 

Sans was still sleeping, just like always. The thin blanket hadn’t stirred from where he’d moved it yesterday. One of Sans’ toes poked through it, the grey-white barely distinguishable from the dull cream that had maybe once been a bright yellow. 

Papyrus shuffled over to the bed, picking up the bottle as he passed. He settled down next to the pillow, wincing at the clods of dirt between his metatarsals as he tucked them underneath his shorts. He smoothed out his striped shirt, coughed, and turned his face over to Sans’.

“Hey, brother.”

No response greeted him, so he moved on, rambling about his day as he twisted off the bottle’s top. 

“I got back my test today. It’s up two whole points from last week! Pretty soon I’ll be entering double digits.”

The lid came loose with little pop, and Papyrus winced. He looked over at his brother, worried that he...but no, nothing had changed. Nothing ever changed. 

Day in, day out, that was where he’d be. Sans always just lay there, his SOUL barely beating, his bones slowly turning from strong and solid to skooshy and grey. 

The ends in his joints had started leaking a few days ago, emitting pale blue and yellow slime the color that his eye used to be when he was showing off his attacks.

“I brought you another bottle, Sans. Can you...can you please drink it for me?”

Sans didn’t respond. He never responded. Their parents had started saying he never would two weeks ago when they stopped buying the medicine, but Papyrus still believed. After all, Sans had promised him he’d show him all of his attacks when Papyrus’ magic kicked in. 

He’d woken up with the room glowing dark blue the day after Sans had fallen asleep. He was still waiting for his brother to wake up.

Papyrus sighed. 

“That’s alright, brother. I’ll help you one more time, okay? But tomorrow you really should stop being so lazy and drink it for yourself. It isn’t good for you, and what kind of a brother would I be if I let you…”

His voice trailed into silence. He didn’t want to think about the end of that sentence, and so he wouldn’t. Instead, he slipped his left hand underneath Sans’ skull, cupping the occipital and raising it slowly. The bone gave a bit under his hand, and he shuddered.

“Okay, brother. I’m going to open your mouth now, okay? If at any point you feel strong enough to do this for yourself, please let me know.”

Papyrus used the edge of his right hand’s thumb’s distal phalange to pry open Sans’ jaw. Quickly, he poured the medicine down his throat, watching the fount of white splashing down the tube of blue and yellow. 

He tried not to think about how the colors were so much paler today than they were a week ago. That didn’t matter.

Once the liquid had finished absorbing into Sans’ system, Papyrus carefully let his arm down, laying his brother’s skull to rest on the pillow. He let it rest there, his own ulna and radius barely making a dent in the deflated pillow. 

He brushed his phalanges over the frontal bone. The deep cold hadn’t changed one bit. 

Dark blue droplets landed on the grey-white bone, first one at a time, then in messy clusters.

Papyrus dropped down and wrapped his arms around his brother. His body shook, the sound of rattling bones weaving in and around the sound of blubbering tears. He sobbed and he screamed and he shivered. He couldn’t do this anymore.

He had tried to be calm, to be good. He had tried to be brave, but it was hard, doing all the things Sans used to do for him. 

It was hard going into the markets, with all the shouting and the smells and the pushing. 

It was hard, counting up the coins to pay for Sans’ medicine.

It was hard, walking all the way to Hotland, and lugging the bottles all the way back. 

He had tried, but it was too hard. He just wanted his brother back.

Papyrus remembered all the times he had come home from school so worn out by all the people and the lessons and the rules only to collapse, just like this, in Sans’ arms.

He remembered the words, so quiet and laid back, but always kind, always nice. Sans always knew just the right thing to say to make him feel better.

He remembered the smile, lazy and unchanging, that somehow always welcomed him and told him he was needed, worthwhile, even when everyone around him seemed to think otherwise.

He remembered the way Sans’ would hug him, his right hand wrapping around his ribcage, his left rubbing at the back of his skull, soothing him, lulling him slowly into sleep. He could almost feel it now.

He  _ could _ feel it now. 

As his sobs morphed into hiccups, Papyrus felt a trembling hand leaning on the back of his skull. It was different than before, softer, slimier. 

All of the weight of it was resting against him, not just the faint touch Sans had used before, and the way it trembled was like nothing he had ever felt his brother do before. 

But it was real. It was  _ real.  _ Papyrus tilted his skull back, blinked through the worst of the tears, and stared.

Sans smiled shakily back at him, eye lights wavering in lidded sockets, but open and aware.

“hey bro. sorry i’ve been so lazy lately. guess i’ll just have to put a little more backbone into it, huh?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn’t the first time Sans had fallen asleep at his station. Heck, it wasn’t even in the double digits anymore. But something about this time just...irked Undyne. It was like he was throwing it in her face that Asgore wouldn’t let her fire him.

 

So of course when she’d found him sleeping this time she’d started yelling at him. He was lazy. He was pathetic. He was useless. She let her mouth vent all the seething resentment and disdain she’d been holding back for years. Papyrus would probably make her apologize in a few days, but right now she was angry. She was angry, and she had a perfect target. Heck, he wasn’t even talking back.

 

He wasn’t talking back. Something about that bothered her, and it wasn’t until she was several minutes into the speech that she figured out why. He wasn’t talking back, no. But that meant he wasn’t punning, and Sans  _ always _ punned. 

 

She broke off mid-harangue to poke him.

 

“Hey, you alright punk?”

 

He didn’t stir.

 

“Sans?”

 

Not even a twitch of a phalange acknowledged her. 

 

“Dude, I know you’re awake. When you’re asleep you snore.”

 

Still no response. She leaned closer.

 

Sans had always had a quiet SOUL beat. Papyrus said it was because he’d gotten sick as a child. Quiet she could accept, but this was ridiculous. She could hardly make out three beats per minute.

 

Undyne didn’t waste any time. She pulled out her phone and held down the speed dial for Papyrus with one hand while hauling Sans’ dead weight over her shoulder with the other. The phone hardly started the first ring before he answered.

 

“YES? YOU’VE REACHED THE GREAT PAPYRUS!”

 

“Pap, something’s up with Sans. He’s not responding and his SOUL beat is way too slow. Should I take him to your place or Alphys’?”

 

She heard Papyrus’ attempt to hold back a sob and pushed it to the back of her mind. She’d yell at Sans for making him worry when the punk woke up. 

 

Papyrus’ voice was cracked when he responded, “TAKE HIM TO ALPHYS’. THERE’S A MEDICINE. IT’S IN A BLUE BOTTLE, AND IT’S WHITE.”

 

Undyne grunted as she set off. Alphys’ Lab wasn’t far, and while Papyrus’ description was vague, she was sure the brilliant scientist would know what to do.

 

* * *

 

Undyne sat in a chair beside a bed containing a skeleton on the edge of death. She hadn’t moved in a while. She’d collapsed the moment Alphys told her the news.

 

She felt awful. She’d been haranguing Sans as if nothing was wrong while he’d been dying by inches in front of her. She should have been kinder. She should have insisted he take less hours. She should have thought.

 

Alphys said this was genetic, an overreaction to stress in his magic that turned it into something like acid. It ate at his bones from the inside until it hit something vital. Then he collapsed, just like this. It had been building for weeks, Alphys said. He’d must have been in agony.

 

Why hadn’t he said something? He must have noticed. No one could miss that kind of pain. She could have found something better - heck, if she’d told Fluffybuns he would have tripled Sans’ salary and ordered him to take paid time off. Papyrus was beating himself up for pushing Sans into ‘not being such a lazybones’. She couldn’t blame him. She felt the same.

 

The good news was that this was manageable. The medicine Papyrus had described was fairly cheap. Sans would be on a triple dose until he woke up. After that, he needed to drink at least one bottle a day. Undyne was already planning what she’d say to Fluffybuns when something groaned.

 

Her head shot up. Sans was curling up into a tight little ball. His skull was leaking blue fluid like sweat, and his sockets were scrunched up with pain. She snatched the waiting bottle of medicine from his bedside. The other hand pushed his legs down flat.

 

“Oh no you don’t, punk. Open your mouth right now.”

 

His mouth was open, but only because he was panting like mad. She tipped his skull back and dumped the medicine down his throat in an inelegant sploosh. His magic tried to reject it, but after she shut his mouth tight she saw his throat working. Undyne breathed out.

 

“Stars you scared me punk. Don’t  _ do _ that!”

 

“sorry.”

 

His voice was quiet, a croak even, but it was there. She refrained from hugging him senseless. It wouldn’t help any.

 

“Don’t be sorry, punk. Just don’t do it!” She wound down about eight notches, “How are you feeling, anyway?”

 

“not bad.”

 

“Sans,” she voiced, deadpan, “You’re in the Royal Laboratory. Papyrus has been beside himself with worry, Alphys is working on making you a cure, and Fluffy- the King himself is constantly on my back asking about you. Be honest.”

 

Sans wouldn’t look her in the eye.

 

“i’m not as bad as i was.”

 

“Better. On a scale of one to ten, how dead do you feel?”

 

He let out a wet chuckle.

 

“eight? yeah, eight.”

 

“Okay,” That sounded horrible, “And how bad did you feel before you collapsed?”

 

Sans winced. Well, he tried to wince. His body wasn’t really cooperating.

 

“dunno. twenty?”

 

“That wasn’t an option, punk,” Man that sounded badass, “But kudos for not dying. By the way, don’t do that.”

 

“not planning on it. pap needs me.”

 

She turned her head aside and rubbed some gook out of her eye. Yeah, gook. Not tears. Nope.

 

“Yeah, he does. So tell me why you were stupid enough to hide this from him.”

 

He turned away, “i didn’t want to put him through that again.”

 

“Again?” She leant down over him. His sockets were tearing up.

 

“yeah. we, uh...i had this happen before. i was, like, ten i think? yeah. our parents weren’t exactly stellar, you know?”

 

“I got that idea,” More than an idea. Watching Pap’s reactions had painted an entire picture, “Go on.”

 

“they didn’t, um...i had to...pap needed to eat, right? and they weren’t...so i worked. and school, and...our dad wasn’t...pap thought they were nice, but he didn’t know that they...that they…”

 

“I get it, punk.” 

 

Wow. Had they really…? No, she wasn’t going to doubt him. Not now.

 

“i wanted to get him out. before he got...before he learned what monsters could turn into. and i did, but before that i was doing too much. and pap, he stepped up. so much, i - i was so proud of him. he got medicine for me for two weeks after our parents stopped. did you know that?”

 

“No. I didn’t,” He sounded like a proud parent. Guess he kinda was, wasn’t he? The only one Pap had, “Doesn’t surprise me, though. Not with how much he idolizes you.”

 

“heh. i’m nothing special, but he’s too cool to see that.”

 

“No, you’re not. You took care of him, you dealt with some seriously bad parenting, you got him out of there and to a place where he could shine. All while you were growing up yourself and in serious pain the entire time - no, don’t you dare deny it. You deserve a heck of a lot more than life has given you.”

 

Sans sat back and grumbled just under his breath, “no i don’t.”

 

“YES YOU FRICKING DO!!!!”

 

“UNDYNE?”

 

Both of them turned. Papyrus had stuck his head through the door, but it wasn’t alone for long. One second he was hesitant to intrude, the next he and Sans were tangled in a ball of somewhat battered bones. She just stood back and beamed as her best friend snuggled and snuffled into his older brother. Those two nerds deserved it, and if she had anything to say about it too much cuddles would be the only thing they’d have to worry about from now on.


	3. Chapter 3

The Capitol was abuzz. It was always noisy, but today it practically screamed with energy. A place as crowded and grey as this would take any excitement. The appearance of their king was certainly that. 

 

He was in the oldest part of the city, the part where masonry crumbling and falling from on high was more common than new paint. The denizens rarely bothered to sweep up the dust. Why would they? It wasn't theirs.

 

But today the kind, caring king was knocking on every door. He spent a few minutes speaking to every monster he encountered. Speculation was rife as to why he was doing this. He wasn't known for leaving the palace except for his annual visits to the schoolchildren. Maybe that would be changing? 

 

Late in the evening he arrived at the door. On the surface, this door wasn't any different from its neighbors. The brown paint was peeling and cracked. Boot marks dented the bottom of the door. The knob was littered with key scratches no one had ever bothered to buff out.

 

It was the little details that made Asgore think this might be there right place. For one thing, most of the scratches on the door were below the handle. Pry marks around the lock had bone fragments still embedded. And finally, below the boot marks were blue and orange stains. 

 

Still, that didn't guarantee that this was the right place. It could be coincidence. The parents might have moved. The boys might have misremembered.

 

When the door opened, though, he knew he wasn't mistaken. The tall skeleton that stood before him bore an unmistakable resemblance to Sans. Well, not in height, obviously. That trait was clearly passed on to Papyrus. No, it was the rounded shape of the skull that they shared. That, and the suspicious glare. 

 

“Howdy. I was wo-”

 

“WHADYA WAN?”

 

The voice was loud like Papyrus, although not nearly as friendly. Something in the way the words sounded was harsher, thicker, and more formal than either of the brothers, even through the slur of drink. The smell certainly didn't help. 

 

Asgore decided to cut to the chase. This did not seem the kind of monster who would tolerate small talk.

 

“Are you acquainted with two monsters named Sans and Papyrus?”

 

The transformation was amazing. The face that had showed only mild annoyance before twisted into a mask of fury. Their sharp fangs were bared, their brows were furrowed in a deep W, and their sockets lit up with purple and contaminated yellow flames.

 

“THOSE TWO REBREBAES! LEFT DID ME, AFTER ALL I DIH! NUH RESPET. LIL SHICKS. BITS. WHA’ER. OOSLESS. STUBID. LAZY. WEAK. NE’ER ME LISTEN DIH THEY. ALWAYS SAYIN “HUNRY”, “THIRSY”, “TIRED”, “SICK”. BAH. NUH LIKE I DINT GI’EM FUD. WORK MY BUH OFF. HEH. THEIR BUHS TOO. WHY SHOO I ONLY BE ONE WORKIN.”

 

“Ah,” Asgore lowered his head, “I see.”

 

Asgore considered everything he knew about the situation. Undyne had told him that both brothers had all but told her they had been abused. Sans had the stronger memories of the two, having been older. He also seemed to have been impacted more. They had run away because to stay was dangerous and unhealthy. 

 

Alphys had told him of Sans’ condition. It was easily manageable, and yet instead of helping him his parents had left him for dead. Both he and Papyrus had scars from old, unset breaks. Both showed signs of childhood malnutrition. Both, without doubt, had mental trauma. 

 

“And their mother?”

 

“HUH?”

 

Asgore clenched and unclenched his fists under the mask of his cape. He needed to know this. From what Sans had reluctantly shared, she was just as guilty as his father.

 

“What happened to their mother?”

 

The drunk skeleton tilted his head, “WHA? NUHIN. SHE AT BE WORK NOW.”

 

Ah. That was a pity. Asgore would just have to stay and wait. In the meantime…

 

The king used one giant paw to topple the leaning monster into the small, dirty apartment. He let out a small noise of surprise and protest. Asgore ignored it. He folded himself through the doorframe and carefully closed the door. 

 

“Now, I'd like to discuss further the disgusting, illegal facts of your neglect and abuse of your own children.”

 

From outside the apartment, ones could hear a whimper. One could also see the lock turn.

 

Inside, a very frightened skeleton was being held down in the battered, much-patched brown sofa that dominated the living room. His head was free, and he was being pinned in a sitting position, but that didn’t matter to his alcohol-soaked psyche. It decided he was being attacked. His struggles were remarkably forceful for someone in his condition.

 

“Please don’t worry. I will not harm you. I admit that I would very much like to, but I will not. Something like yourself isn’t worth the effort. But you do deserve punishment.”

 

“DONE NUTHIN WRONG,” the voice was surly.

 

Asgore shook his head, “If you honestly believe that, there was something wrong with your upbringing. Tell me, what were your parents like?”

 

“HUH?”

 

“Answer the question,” The pressure from Asgore’s hands increased minutely.

 

The skeleton attempted a shrug, “DUNNO. CAVE-IN. M’UNCLE RAISED ME.”

 

Asgore nodded, more in the manner of someone wanting the conversation to continue rather than someone agreeing with the speaker.

 

“And this skeleton?”

 

Another shrug, “HE WUS NICE’NOUGH. WARM BED IN DA ATTIC, HELP IN DA STORE, FOOD AT NIGH. MORNIN, TOO. CLOTHES AND SHOES AND STUFF LIKE THAT. NOT BAD.”

 

“Then why didn’t you give those same things to your children?”

 

“BAH. LAZY FREAKS DIDN’ EARN IT. CRYIN ALL NIGH, BIGHIN MY FINGER, BREAKIN STUFF WITH MAGIC.”

 

“Mhmn. And how old were they at the time?”

 

The skeleton’s eye lights crossed.

 

“FOUH? THREE? SUMMTIN LIKE THAT.”

 

Asgore’s grip tightened and made the monster’s bones creak.

 

“HEY, WATCH DA-”

 

“Babies cannot control themselves like adults can. They cry because they are hungry, or thirsty, or tired, or uncomfortable. It is the only method of communication they have. They bite things because their hands are not coordinated enough to explore with, and their mouth is the next best thing. All children have a hard time controlling their magic - many adults feel the same. Especially if they are sick, or tired, or in pain. You expected them to be something other than they were, and because they could not meet that impossible expectation, you punished them for the rest of their lives.”

 

The skeleton pinned under his hand slid his gaze across the messy room. Bottles of varying shapes, colors, and smells lay around the room like snow poffs in Snowdin. Some were filled. Some were empty. Most were somewhere in between. A few were leaking their various liquids onto the mold-stained carpet. The walls were only marginally less gross, although the ugly, faded green-and-orange zig-zag wallpaper made them look worse. 

 

Asgore’s anger escaped and dissolved in a sigh, “I suppose talking to you now is useless. You are too drunk to understand.” 

 

The king ignored the protest wrapped in a snarl that followed that. His eyes had slid to the couch he stood over. Stains beyond anything he’d ever seen before criss crossed and dotted the thin brown fabric. Some of them looked like burn marks. Others looked disappointingly familiar. There were several that looked like caked on blood and gold-blue magic.

 

At least the evidence was clear enough. He didn’t even need to look through the other rooms; this couch and the verbal statements were all he needed. Finding a judge impartial enough to try this case would be much more difficult. It seemed everyone he met knew the skeleton brothers in one way or another. 

 

He hated having to use his authority, but situations like this were exactly what it was for. Tori would have locked him away from the start of it, not even giving the monster a chance to tell his side of the story. Asgore had given him that, at least. Not that anything could excuse what had been done.

 

“I, as King of Monsterkind, am arresting you. Your crimes are child neglect, child abuse, and any other crimes that are discovered during the full investigation will be added to...”

  
  



End file.
